Chapter 30
YAAF
The afternoon round finally ended, and when Number Seven turned the Humvee onto the service road that ran along the outside of the perimeter wall, there was still plenty of time before sunset, unlike yesterday when things had dragged out, and by the time they were done it had been too late to visit Sullha.
Number One hadn't realized how dependent he had become on those visits until he'd missed one. It was like his day wasn't complete if he couldn't spend time with her.
The other seven absorbed his eagerness without comment and did nothing to disperse it, but he could feel their amusement leaking through the collective.
He had news for Sullha, the names they had been able to retrieve last night with Anita's help.
Turned out that before Anita had been abducted and brought to the island, she'd been a nurse in Russia, and she'd specialized in treating soldiers who suffered from something called post-traumatic stress disorder.
She'd told them that memory gaps were common, and she'd used all kinds of tricks to coax their old names from them.
Not that he was going to tell Sullha about Anita's help.
If he did that, he would have to do a lot of other explaining, and he wasn't ready to go there yet.
Maybe not ever. He couldn't tell Sullha that he and the others did not avail themselves of Anita's services, and that her visits were a cover story to establish a pattern for when it was time to get her off the island.
Somewhere in that explanation, he would have to admit that he and the other seven no longer had any sexual interest.
Sullha wouldn't have judged him for that, but she would look at him differently, like he was less of a male because that part of him had been replaced by something else.
Number Seven parked the Humvee in the usual spot in the shade by the wall. The others would wait here while Number One was with Sullha, occupying their time by conducting conversations and debating inside the hive mind.
He climbed out and started toward the gate, his thrall expanding to cover the immortal guards standing outside.
One of them opened the gate, and they both turned their heads to the right, looking at the corner of the perimeter wall and letting him pass without registering that anything unusual was happening.
He walked through the enclosure while casting a wider thrall, the same he did every time, the collective feeding him power from their nearly endless reservoir. He was as good as invisible to every woman, child, and human guard whose eyes would just slide off him as if he wasn't there.
As he reached the playground, he stopped at the low gate and looked inside, searching for Sullha. He found her sitting on the same bench she always sat on while waiting for him.
Today she was actually reading a book, not just holding it. Her head was bent over it, her hair falling forward and hiding her face from him. He couldn't see if the book was the same one she had been carrying before or whether it was new.
When he walked up behind her, he saw that it was another tattered paperback from the enclosure's meager library, and she was so absorbed in her reading that she didn't feel his presence this time.
He looked at her bent head, her small hand on the open book, and something inside his chest squeezed in that inconvenient way that only happened around Sullha, especially when he watched her without her being aware of him.
The feeling seemed familiar, like an echo of something he'd forgotten, and then it suddenly clicked.
He'd felt this way before, when things between him and Sullha had changed, and their childhood friendship had morphed into something more. At least on his part. Sullha had remained oblivious to what was happening to him, and he'd preferred it that way.
It had been right before he'd been taken to the training camp, and then whatever he'd thought he felt had been beaten out of him along with everything else.
Now it was coming back, slowly, in pieces.
Standing behind Sullha, he had the absurd urge to lean down and kiss the top of her head, but then the collective sent him a vivid depiction of her being terrified by his action, and the urge dissipated as if it had never arisen.
Instead, he lifted the thrall from her and slid onto the bench beside her.
Her head came up, her eyes focused on him, and she let out a long breath.
"I didn't feel you. You scared me."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. What are you reading that is so captivating?"
"A murder on a train. The passengers are trying to figure out who the murderer is."
"Is it a new book?"
She chuckled. "We haven't gotten new books in over a year. I didn't want to read something with a murder mystery subtitle, but I decided to give it a try because I've read everything else."
Their thighs were touching through the thin fabric of her coveralls and the heavier fabric of his uniform pants, but neither of them felt the need to adjust.
They had sat like this when they were children, and he had forgotten that.
They had sat on benches in this same play yard, in the dining room, and the classroom, with their thighs and shoulders touching, and at some point in the year before he had been taken, the touching had stopped feeling like the casual contact of close friends and had started feeling like something else.
At least on his side.
He had hidden it in jokes and small pranks, delighting her in the only way she could have found acceptable.
Sullha hadn't hidden anything because she'd had nothing to hide.
She might have loved him, but it was as a friend, and she'd assumed he loved her the same way, because that was the only way they were allowed to relate to each other.
The other thing he had felt was not on the list of permitted feelings.
"What is it?" she said.
He blinked. "What's what?"
"You're staring at me. Do I have a smudge on my face?" She drew her hand over her face.
"No. You don't have a smudge. I am just remembering things from before," he admitted. "Bits and pieces that are coming back."
"Like what?"
"Like you with your nose in a book. You used to read with that exact expression, with your hair falling on your face and hiding it. I used to make fun of you to get you to stop so you would play with me."
She huffed. "You pulled my hair when we were little. Thankfully, you stopped doing that when we got older."
"You threatened me with bodily harm if I did it again. I took it to heart."
She laughed. "As if I were ever a threat to you. You were always so much taller than me."
"Not until we were eight and I had a growth spurt."
Sullha tilted her head. "You are remembering more things from your past. What has changed?"
"My team and I did a brainstorming session last night."
"Did you remember anything else?"
He nodded. "I have the names you wanted."
Perking up, she closed her book. "All of them?"
"Yes."
"That's great. I'm so glad. It would be a sad thing for those names to be lost."
"It would."
He reached into the inner pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out the folded square of paper. He had written down the names because it would have been too much for her to memorize. It was hard for him.
The Eight of them would continue using their designated numbers because that was what felt most natural to them. The names written on the piece of paper he was holding had belonged to different people.
He put the folded page on top of the closed book.
She unfolded it. "Number Two's name is Dumuz, and he is the son of Mirumah."
"Yes."
"Number Three's name is Tersan, and Rohilah is his mother. Number Four's name is Camdor, mother Baruha, sister Asira."
"Yes."
"Number Five is Armos, and he's the son of Karina. Number Six is Ravsoh, the son of Zohara. Number Seven is named Voset, and his mother is Gindah."
"Yes."
"Number Eight. Bardov. Mother Vinnah." She folded the page into a small square and put it inside the book. "Vinnah is off the list."
"Yes."
"How did he take it?"
Number One wasn't sure how to answer that.
The truth was that Number Eight had taken it the way the collective took everything now, in waves that the others absorbed and dispersed, with periodic re-emergences when something triggered the grief and the others moved in to hold it.
It was distributed grieving, and it was slow, but it was steady. He could not say that to Sullha.
"He's all right," he said. "We're helping him cope."
"Good. Do any of them have siblings that they remember? It will help me to know that when I approach them."
"I asked, and I have some answers, but they are not complete."
"Tell me what you have."
He took a breath and worked through it from memory that was fresh from last night and yet hazy. The seven started feeding him details across the connection, and he had to filter their input to make it sound like his own.
"Mirumah had two older sons before Dumuz. He couldn't recall their names, but we can safely assume that they are in the army or were. Soldiers die. Even immortal ones. Some injuries are too severe for our bodies to heal."
She shivered. "I'm so glad that you and your team haven't been deployed. I might have lost you forever."
"Sullha." He put his hand over hers, and she didn't pull away. "You care about me."
"Of course I do, stupid." She pulled out her hand and swatted his arm like she used to do when they were kids. "Can I still call you stupid? Or is it a mortal sin to call an enhanced warrior names?"
"You can call me anything you want. I'm not offended."
"Good." She let out a breath. "I acted on impulse, and then I got scared, thinking I overstepped. I'm glad I didn't."
"You can never overstep with me."
She looked at him with a questioning expression on her beautiful face, then shook her head. "Okay. Who else?"
"Number Three doesn't remember any siblings, but his memory of his childhood is shaky."
"He has a sister."
He stopped.
The collective stopped.
"What?"
"He has a sister. I know Rohilah, his mother. She has a little girl who's about two. Her name is Bianca."
"Are you sure? Maybe there is another Rohilah in the enclosure?"
Sullha shook her head. "Rohilah had a son who is in the army now. I'm sure she's Tersan's mother."
"Bianca doesn't sound like a name that belongs in the enclosure."
"Rohilah wanted to give her daughter an Italian-sounding name."
The collective absorbed the news and then bounced it between them. Number Three was excited, and his excitement was echoed and amplified through the others. Happy excitement.
That didn't happen often to them.
That almost never happened.
"He will be excited to hear that he has a sister." Number One couldn't stop the grin spreading over his face.
"You're smiling," Sullha said. "You look happy."
"I'm happy for my friend."
Number Three was saying that he wanted to come with Number One the next time they came to visit the enclosure, so he could see his sister.
"He probably will want to come with me next time I visit."
"I don't know if I can take him to see his mother and sister or even arrange for them to be here. Rohilah doesn't bring Bianca to the playground yet." Sullha chewed on her lower lip. "Can he do what you do? With the thrall?"
Number One hesitated. "Not as well as I can."
"Why not as well?"
"Because strengths vary between immortals."
"I see."
"I'll help him," he said. "We're stronger together."
He realized his mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth.
He waited, but Sullha did not catch it.
She nodded, accepting the statement at face value. "Who else remembers siblings?"
He let out a breath, and the collective eased as if they had all followed his example.
"Number Five has a younger brother who is in the army. Number Six had an older brother who also volunteered for the enhancement program and was killed. Number Seven has two younger brothers, both of whom are in the army. Number Eight doesn't know of any siblings."
"There aren't any. Vinnah has only ever had one son."
The collective absorbed that without comment.
"No names for the brothers?" she asked.
He shook his head. "That is all we have for now. Maybe we will remember more later."
"All right." Sullha opened the book, pulled out the note, opened it, refolded it neatly, and tucked it back inside the book. "I told Asira. She's in."
"When did you speak with her?"
"Earlier today. I told her there was a way out, and she said to count her in before I had even finished the sentence."
"That's good."
"She's so eager to get out of here that she didn't even ask me how."
"She must trust you."
"I guess so."
Number One felt Number Four's excitement and happiness through the connection and felt another grin spreading over his face.
Sullha looked at him with wonder in her eyes. "When you smile like that, you look like my Yofi." She lifted her hand, and for one stupid moment, he thought that she would cup his face, but she put it on his forearm. "You need to smile more."
It was a small unconscious gesture, one she used to make when they were children, just a touch to punctuate a sentence. She had always used her hands to talk. She still touched when she talked, but only when she felt safe to do so.
Sullha felt safe with him.
Something stirred inside of him. It was a slight warming, far less sharp than what he remembered from his twelve-year-old self, but it was unmistakably in the same family of feelings.
He had thought he had transcended this particular cluster of sensations, but it seemed like some of it still existed, buried deep inside, below the hive mind and separate from it.
The collective registered the response.
Sullha withdrew her hand, not because she'd noticed and regretted doing so, but because the gesture had run its course.
"Yofi," he repeated. "I forgot that you used to call me that."
She chuckled. "You hated it, but you allowed me to call you that when we were alone. You would have punched any boy who dared to use that nickname, but no one was that stupid. For a guy who didn't like to fight, you had a mean right hook."
He turned his head toward the playground because he had to put his eyes somewhere else. Tomek was on top of the climbing frame, holding on with one hand and waving wildly with the other at someone Yaaf could not see.
The boy was so small, and so fierce, and so much his mother's son.